Detox
by blue c 84
Summary: How Reid stopped using dilaudid
1. Chapter 1

Note: Summer is actually an OC for the Supernatural fics I write. I just figured to use her for Criminal Minds too instead of creating a whole new character from scratch. I'm lazy that way.

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His hand trembled as he stared at the used needle. He closed his eyes waiting for the dilaudid to take effect. Didn't he decide he was going to quit? He knew he had to. The team was starting to notice. He didn't even like the way he was acting. His behavior was terrible. It's a wonder that Hotch or Morgan or Emily or JJ haven't said anything.

Probably because of Gideon.

Gideon. He promised him in New Orleans that he wouldn't miss another plane.

Yet look at him now. Just hours after he promised... He couldn't even look himself in the mirror.

Spencer Reid disposed of the used syringe as fast as he could out of shame. A tear of frustration came down his cheek as he made his way to his bedroom. The shakes started to subside. "Last one," he said to himself firmly. But his mind nagged, "That's what you said the last time."

"No," he told himself like the lion in the Wizard of Oz, "I have to be brave."

He took his mobile phone from the side table as he cozied under his blanket. He firmly went through his phonebook, taking deep breaths everytime a possible name would pop up.

Aaron Hotchner- No. Hotch had his own family problems to deal with. He doesn't need his.

Jason Gideon- However it's called, Spencer would know best that the guy still had PTSD.

Emily Prentiss- No. Not after how he's been treating her.

Penelope Garcia- Spencer smiled. Garcia would smother him. It's her way.

Derek Morgan- No, Not him.

Jennifer Jareau- No. Not her.

In fact, he can't have anybody from the bureau see him like this. The team has been keeping this a secret as it is. He can't let their efforts go in vain. Because even he knew that if Strauss knew, she'd dismantle the team. She can't ever know.

But most of the numbers in his phone, most of the people he knew, were from law enforcement.

He sighed putting his phone down in defeat. What was he going to do? The small metal knight figure on his side table stared at him, challenging him, "That's it? You're going to give up now? Weakling."

"But there isn't anyone to call..." he tried to reason with the inanimate object.

"Excuses," he imagined the knight reply.

Reid looked around his small room. Bookshelves were filled with books and little items but none of those things could help him now. Books wouldn't stop him from taking the drugs. In fact, most of those authors wrote their best works with some kind of substance in them. Those little pyramids just mocked him because he would never be enlightened- not like this. Lightsabers couldn't talk him out of it. His model of the USS Enterprise wasn't going to ship him away everytime he had a craving.

Lightsabers and USS Enterprise?

He stared at those two objects again. His mouth fell open as he spotted more trinkets that was given to him by the very same person. Bells from the Himalayans. A little jade elephant from India. In the corner of the bookshelf where the French authors resided was a small replica of the Arc de Truimph in marble. There were other small things in his room he had almost forgotten about.

How could he had forgotten?

He hadn't talked to her in months.

He hasn't seen her in years.

But she always said... if there was anything at all that he needed, to call.

He took his phone again, combing through the phonebook quickly. He knew he had her number here somewhere. Of course he did. He couldn't delete her. Never. But when he found her number, he paused.

Can he really call her out of the blue like this? And with this problem?

He glanced at the silver knight again. "You're just a coward," it seemed to say.

"No, I'm not," he snapped back.

So Spencer pressed the call button and hoped for the best. "Please, Summer... pick up. Please," he silently pleaded.

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"It's meningitis, Kevin."

"I'm telling you, Leo, the results are positive for Encephalitis."

"Prove encephalitis."

A girl sighed. Her groupmates were getting louder by the second. She could already feel the other people in the library start to glare at them as the argument wore on. She glanced at their cases and shook her head. They haven't even finished reading the file and they're already diagnosing, she realized. So she ignored them, reading the case she had on hand instead.

A few minutes later, a librarian stood beside their table, her hands crossed against her chest. She cleared her throat, effectively ending what became a shouting match. "This is a library," she reminded them sternly.

They all gave her a small guilty smile of apology.

"So Summer," Leo prompted, facing her, "Who are you siding with?" he inquired.

"Siding with...?" she asked.

"Kid, encephalitis or meningitis?" Kevin reminded her. "Is your head in the game?"

"Oh, we're still there?" She gave them a weak smile. "Can I answer none of the above?"

The two boys just stared at her in disbelief. Kevin reacted with a, "What?"

"Guys," she placed the last page of the report and pointed three fourths down the page, "He's positive for albuminocytologic dissociation," she stated. "It's Guillian- Barre syndrome."

"How the hell did he get Guillian- Barre?" Leo flipped through his case, confused.

She shrugged and tossed her folder on the table. "It says here he got a an influenza shot. Swine flu. It's a potential side effect. Rare, but there."

Kevin leaned forward, mouth agape. "Wait. He got it from a flu shot?" His eyes grew wide. "I just got a flu shot."

"Dude, chill. It's a one in a million chance. You want a lumbar puncture to confirm?" she teased. But her groupmates didn't find it funny. "Guys, in 1976 there was a swine flu outbreak and the US government started with the needles only to find out that ten per million people were getting GBS. Since GBS was rare as it is, The Man didn't know if it was even related to the shot. Later research shows that it may have increased the risk by just a little but there are also reports that argue that the vaccine was contaminated," she summarized. "Either way, whether it was the vaccine that increased the risk or contamination- chances were that people were getting it from the shot. Vaccination program shut down," she finished, leaning against her chair balancing on it's hind legs. "What?" she asked when she noticed the two boys just staring at her.

"Summer, why do you know that?" Leo asked, curiously.

"There was a book on it. I thought it was interesting. I remember interesting things," she offered. That didn't end the staring though. "Seriously. What?" she prompted. She almost fell backwards in surprise when Highway to Hell started blaring out of her bag. Luckily, Leo caught the chair before it could go backwards. "Thanks man," she said as she started going through her bag looking for her phone.

Several glares were sent her way. The librarian in particular looked vindictive. "Gotta get this," she told her groupmates as she made a mad dash out of the library. "Hello?" she answered the phone without looking at the caller ID, just as she made it out of the automatic doors.

"Hi.. um..." a man stammered on the other end. He cleared his throat. "Is... is this Sum... Summer Wind McKenzie?"

"... Who wants to know?" she answered carefully.

"Dr. Reid... I mean, Spencer Reid..."

Summer's brows furrowed as she walked away from the library shocked and concerned at the same time. The Spencer Reid she knew didn't sound like he was always gasping for air. Granted, she hasn't heard from him in a while. "Slim? Are you okay? Are you in trouble? What's going on?" she asked, concerned.

"Summer? I..." She heard a sniff on the other line. "I know this is an imposition. You must be in the middle of... of something. I mean, it's the middle of the semester and you're... you're in med school. But I... I didn't know who else to... to call."

She could feel her heart sink everytime he said a word. She's never heard him so broken. "Hey, no. There's no imposition of any kind. You can call anytime, at any hour of any day. You know that," she answered. "Now, you don't sound okay. What's going on?" she said, sitting on the curb.

"I've been doing... doing something really stupid... I need help, Sum," came the soft reply.

She looked back at the library and winced. Can she really afford to go off? There was a ton of group work and papers to do but... Oh, that's what the Internet was for. Whatever it is, she'll make sure to catch up. "Are you still in D.C?" she finally asked.

"Yes... You'll come?" The hope in that little question wasn't missed.

"I'll be in the next flight I can find," she promised. "Hang tight do you hear me, Slim?"

"I'll try."

Summer stared at her phone for a second. What the hell is she going to tell her groupmates, let alone her professors.

– – – – –


	2. Chapter 2

Note: Summer is actually an OC for the Supernatural fics I write. I just figured to use her for Criminal Minds too instead of creating a whole new character from scratch. I'm lazy that way.

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Spencer Reid rocked himself in tears. He had done it again. He had broken his coffee pot this morning because his hands couldn't stop shaking. It seemed that he couldn't do anything right this morning until he medicated. "It's just a little," he had told himself. A justification to a moment of weakness.

It was wrong.

He jumped at the sound of the buzzer. Someone was outside his building buzzing for him, he realized when it went off again. "Summer," he realized, jumping off his sofa and to his door where the little screen was to show who was outside.

But noone was there.

Reid blinked, staring at the screen. He heard a buzzing sound. He was sure of it. It was so loud that it couldn't have come from the neighbor's. It was from his apartment. But then, he can't erse the fact that noone was outside.

"Delusions," his mind told him. "A sign of substance abuse."

His breathing started to hitch. It's true. Tobias Hankel was proof of that.

No, he thought as he sank down to the floor. He can't think about Hankel. He can't turn into him. He just can't.

Three raps on the door made him jump and scamper away for a moment. "Maybe he's not in, dear. Sometimes, he disappears for days. I think it's work related," he heard an old woman say. Mrs. Perkins, he recognized. From 7-D.

"Well, it is 6:30 in the morning. Maybe he's still asleep," a familiar voice reasoned. "Do you think people would mind if I just camp out here for a few hours just to make sure? If he doesn't come out by nine, I figure I can call a few people."

"I guess..." the old lady said, tentatively. "What did you say your name again was, dear?"

"Summer Wind McKenzie," came the quick reply.

"Like the Sinatra song?"

"Yes ma'am. My parents had a thing for Sinatra," she explained.

"Okay, dear. I'll come check on you-"

Reid quickly opened the door. He saw Mrs. Perkins half way up the stairs but no Summer. The old lady was just staring at him in shock. Was he imagining her talking too? Was he imagining the whole conversation?

"Looks like there's no need, ma'am," came a slow, measured reply from the floor.

He looked down and found himself meeting concerned blue eyes. She was there. The bundle of energy that was his friend. He hasn't seen her since he joined the FBI academy, but somehow she looked the same- Long tousled waves of black hair, short blunt fringe, blue eyes, pale skin, leather motorcycle jacket, a red rock band shirt that was sizes too big for her, slim cut jeans, the numerous necklaces, bracelets and rings, and boots.

"Summer," he managed to choke out.

"Oh, Slim." She immediately, stood up and wrapped her arms around him. He did the same, feeling slightly better that he had something and someone to hold on to. Fighting back the tears was useless when she held him tighter, so instead he buried his head on her shoulder, sobbing. "Hey, whatever it is, we'll make it right. It'll be okay," she soothed when he finally let go.

"You promise?" he sniffed, watching her pick her duffel bag up with one hand because she was still holding on to him with her other hand.

"I pinky swear." She squeezed his hand. And he stepped aside to let her in.

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"...Hydromorphone," Spencer had very reluctantly admitted.

"Wait. You've been shooting up... Dilaudid?" she had asked, just to make sure. Spencer Reid was the neatest person she knew. Everything had its place. When he nodded, she understood why his apartment looked like a war zone. "Slim, how many times a day, for how long and what dosage are you taking?"

He paused, looking up at her from the couch. "Does it matter?"

"You know it does," She had answered.

And he gave in. Apparently he's been taking it for close to three weeks. He wouldn't tell her why or how he got hold of a controlled substance but at least he gave the packs of syringes, needles and the two 50ml vials of the drug voluntarily. She left him on the couch, hugging his knees as she raided his apartment for alcohol, cigarettes, analgesics, and anything else that could lead him from one addiction to another while he withdrew from dilaudid.

It took time, but finally, Summer had tidied up as much as she could and placed everything in a trash bag for safe disposal. Volunteering in a shelter taught her the drill for disposing needles and broken glass and other possible drug paraphernalia. It also taught her that abusers were likely to hide a stash somewhere. The problem was, the guy had a lot of stuff- mainly books- and the things she would be looking for would be tiny. It'll be like Where's Waldo.

So she decided that the only way this would or could ever work was for her to keep an eye on him. She heaved the half full trash bag onto the bin on the alley beside the building and paused for a moment to enjoy the air while she still could. It was nearly spring but the city was still hovering around freezing point.

Summer took a deep breath to ready herself for the task ahead. He warned her in detail about what might happen but he didn't have to. She knew how this was going to go from the moment he said "Cold turkey." It'll be like all the other opioid only worse because it's going to hit hard and it's going to hit fast. She's seen it first hand in the shelter. He's going to get antsy and short tempered. There's a big chance he's going to get violent and she was going to have to try very hard to keep from hurting him when she defends herself.

At withdrawal's height, he's going to want to die.

She sighed, moving towards the door, mentally slapping herself. That's what she forgot- she forgot to hide the knives, scissors and anything sharp.

Just in case.

For both their sakes.

And they would just have to survive on delivery food for the next few days.

When she opened the door, he looked up looking relieved. She gave him a reassuring smile, heading back to the kitchen. But she wasn't blind. It's only been a few hours since his last confessed dose and he was already looking clammy. However, she was thankful about the fact that he was taking it in very low doses and he wasn't taking anything else or drinking copious amounts of alcohol. Really, it could be worse.

And she's seen worse.

With everything sharp safely hidden away, Summer went back to the couch, a plate of toast in one hand and a glass of juice in the other which she laid on the coffee table. "Hungry?" she offered, taking a toast herself. "I don't think you had breakfast yet, have you?"

He tentatively reached out for one and gave her a small smile when she sat down right beside him. "What did you tell them?" he asked, in between bites.

"Tell who?"

"School," he said. "You're going to miss classes. You had to have told them something."

"Oh," she grinned, "Family emergency," she answered proudly.

"Summer, you had to fill out an application and say that both your parents are deceased. You have no siblings," he pointed out.

She shrugged casually. "What are the odds of them checking?" she replied, forgetting who she was talking to. "Wait, don't answer that," she amended quickly. "Besides, I can always tell them that friends are family you choose. And I didn't say blood relative," she added.

Summer could have sworn the guy blushed but it was hard to tell with him hiding behind his knees. "Thanks, Summer."

"Let's just get you better, eh?" She ruffled his unruly hair a little and he gave her that kind of half amused half smile- just like when they were younger.

She grabbed another piece of toast.

Now to wait for the train wreck.


	3. Chapter 3

Note: Summer is actually an OC for the Supernatural fics I write. I just figured to use her for Criminal Minds too instead of creating a whole new character from scratch. I'm lazy that way.

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Spencer watched his friend put away several plastic container of soups, stews, noodles, stirfry and whatever else she told the guy she was talking to on the phone in Chinese. She's already placed away ten containers and yet, he could still see seven on the counter. He tried to say something but all that came out of his mouth was a raspy sound. Summer paused to shoot him an inquiring gaze as he drank more water from the tumbler she set beside him.

His mouth felt so dry.

"Slim?" she prompted, more concerned this time.

"No, um... I was just wondering," he said, pointing at the delivered food she had paid for. "Planning to... um... feed an army?" he asked.

"No," she replied simply, setting more food aside inside his fridge but leaving two behind. "Just you and me, bud."

"That's too much food for just us," he countered, crinkling his nose at the smell of whatever she was reheating.

The smell was overpowering. Sweet and salty at the same time. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that a headache had started to form. It was bad enough that he was shivering and sweating at the same time and his muscles were twitching, now he had to deal with a headache. He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself but the smell of food overwhelmed. Spencer shrank further in his seat, lifting the blanket to his nose to block off the scent to no avail.

She was already bringing the bowl on a tray to him.

"Summer, I'm not hungry," he said, leaning away from the food.

"Tough," she replied. "You've been refusing food for the past two hours. It's three in the afternoon. If you don't eat, you're going to starve."

"Technically, you can't... can't starve from just skipping one meal. You'd need a severe reduction in vitamins and-" he gulped, "-energy intake over a period of time. You'd... have to be extremely malnourished before you can actually be classified as... as starving," he quickly countered, unable to even look at the food on the tray.

"I'll quote you on that the next time I have an exam on starvation," she replied dryly. "Seriously, though, you need to eat," she said.

"No, I don't. Summer, I'm not hungry."

"It's not about hungry or not hungry. You can sit there the whole day but you're shaking like a leaf and sweating like a pig. And don't think I don't see that you're twitchy. Don't think I don't see that you look like you just ran a marathon," she said, meeting his eye squarely. "You're expending more calories than you think. So for the last time, you need to eat," she stated, using chopsticks to put some noodle and beef on the soup spoon, ready for him to lean in and take it.

He looked at the bowl of beef noodle soup and cringed. "But I don't want to."

"Come on, Spencer. Be a man." She moved the spoon closer to his mouth and he leaned back even more.

He swatted the spoon away. Beef noodle soup fell off the spoon and onto the floor and coffee table. "I said I don't want any," he snapped.

Much to his surprise, all she did was take her phone, scrolling down her phonebook until she found a number. Then she gave him a the most saccharine smile he's ever seen, holding up the phone so he could read. Spencer's eyes widened in horror. "You wouldn't," he challenged when he read the words 'Bennington Sanitarium'.

"Oh yes, I would. I'm so going to call your mother," Summer threatened calmly. She filled the spoon with beef noodles soup again and moved it close to him. "So are you going to eat or what."

He glared at her in annoyance, knowing that his friend doesn't make idle threats. "That's low," he replied. He can't have his mother know. It'll break her heart. She'd be so disappointed. So he leaned in and took the spoon full of food anyway.

How could something that smelled so salty and sweet taste so bland?

"Hey, whatever works man," she replied victoriously. She placed more food on the spoon and he ate, swallowing as fast as he could, unable to stand the smell.

But a few more bites was all he could take. His stomach lurched and he quickly stood up, trying to keep the food down until he got to the washroom. The world had other plans as it started spinning around him. He could feel it, the acid, th bile and whatever else he ate, rising up his throat.

Suddenly, he felt someone brace him. His arm around thrown around her shoulder and her two arms trying to keep him steady as they both headed for the washroom. He made it to his toilet just in time for the fireworks coming out of his mouth. "Easy now, tiger," he heard Summer say while she tried to hold most of his hair out of the way with one hand and smoothed circled on his back to comfort him with the other.

She helped him wash up. "Thanks," he said, hoarsely. When they went back outside though, he suddenly understood why she bought so much food. And why she was using a tray. The bowl of beef noodle soup spilled on the tray and overflowed on the coffee table, wasted. There was also some soup and noodles on the sofa seat he had been occupying.

With a sigh, he sat himself down beside his small dining table instead.

"New plan," Summer announced, coming out of his room with a clean blanket, which she promptly handed to him.

"There was a plan?" he asked, weakly. He closed his eyes, waiting for the dizzy spell to subside.

"Oh yeah." When he opened his eyes again, he saw a trashbin beside him and several containers of food on the table. She took the first container, popped the lid off. "Here," she said, holding the container of dumplings out to him, "Sniff this."

If he didn't feel so sick, he would've smiled.

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"So the unsub stabs his victims. In the heart. Seven times." Derek Morgan let out a low whistle. "That's massive overkill."

Emily Prentiss nodded, with a wince. "I know right? Like once isn't enough."

"The question is- why seven?" JJ commented.

"Well, there's one thing we know for certain. These people were definitely targeted. Garcia, dig into their lives. There has to be some overlap," Hotch intructed.

"Aye aye, Captain," Penelope Garcia, on the small little screen, gave a small salute before the jet's screen flickered off.

"You know, Reid probably knows this place pretty well. It's just outside Vegas," Prentiss said, shaking her head.

"Where is Reid anyway?" Morgan asked.

Jason Gideon adjusted his glasses, looking at the case file pretending his best not to be bothered by the question. He knew something was wrong. The young profiler had been short tempered and sometimes, downright rude lately. He's also been twitching more than usual and smiling a lot less. Even how he looked seemed off- the circles around his eyes were darker. His clothes were even less put together. There were small things here and there every now and then that normal people would have missed. But who was the kid trying to fool- they were profilers. They make a living out of observing people's behavior.

He also knows that Reid was the type to bottle things up. Given his history with bullies, Gideon knew that his young colleague was probably more afraid of being teased and rejected. So he isn't going to blatantly push, even if he is concerned.

"He sent me a message saying he's taking some personal time for the rest of the week. Something about a friend," he answered as casually as he could.

There was audible pause inside the cabin.

Gideon thought he probably could've heard a pin drop- if one happened to.

He saw Morgan lift an eyebrow. "Gideon, Reid doesn't text," he said pointedly. "That's trouble right there."

"And Spence taking personal time for a friend? That's big. He normally at least mentions something about it... But I haven't gotten a word from him since we got back from New Orleans," JJ added.

"Should we be worried?" Prentiss asked, though it was obvious to everyone that she already was. "Maybe Garcia should check in on him..." she suggested.

_Damn profilers_, Gideon thought, annoyed and proud at the same time. "If he says he has a friend, he has a friend," he replied lightly. Although, he had to admit, even he doubted that alibi.

Hotch met his eye quickly. _Really?_ he seemed to ask. But thankfully what he said out loud was, "Look guys. I know we're all worried about Reid right now but he asked for space and it'll be callous of us not to give him that."

"But Hotch-" JJ started.

"Now this case," Hotch interjected, "Three people violently murdered in three days. There will be more," he reminded the team.

Gideon gave him a small nod of gratitude when the team continued with their differential. There was something wrong with Reid and everyone had an inkling why. He swore he'd check on him when they got back.

And by God, there had better be a friend.

– - - - –


	4. Chapter 4

Note: Summer is actually an OC for the Supernatural fics I write. I just figured to use her for Criminal Minds too instead of creating a whole new character from scratch. I'm lazy that way.

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He could hear the seconds tick by. The space in between those seconds felt like an eternity. Suddenly, Spencer could see him, Raphael with his beside his bed looking like he was staring at the horizon. The profiler grasped his blanket tighter, lifting it to hide part of his face. If he stayed absolutely still, maybe, just maybe Raphael wouldn't see him.

Maybe he wouldn't see him trembling in fear.

_Summer_, he mentally called out, spotting her form sitting on the chaise futon lounge chair in the corner of his room he called his reading nook. She was studying, catching up with the reading material. The low light of the standing lamp dimly illuminated the room. His breathing hitched when he saw Raphael shift his gaze right at him.

_Summer_, his mind screamed. But she just turned the page she was reading. She nodded lightly, as if she understood something. Like she was telling the murderous man that it was okay to kill him. He had her permission. So Raphael lifted the gun and spun the barrel.

Reid's eyes grew wide in fear. Raphael could see him, more than that, the psycho was lifting the gun, aiming right for him. _No, no, no, no, no, no, no,_ his silently begged.

Raphael however, just steadied his steely gaze at him and demanded, "Confess your sins, boy."

"NO!" Reid finally screamed, scrambling out of bed as fast as he could, trying to avoid the gunshot that never came.

_Screw this_, he decided, half panicked as he pulled out his sidetable's drawer and turning it over. The syringe he hid was still there. Summer didn't find it. Further proof of his friend's incompetence. Further proof that his so called friend wanted him dead too.

_Screw this. _He took the syringe and made a fist with his other hand, baring his arm. He could do the vomiting, the nausea, the body aches, the dizzy spells- but he can't deal with this. The return of Raphael and the Hankels simply isn't something he can do alone, especially not in his already weakened state. He was about to flick the cap off the needle when the syringe was snatched away from him.

Angry, hot tears blurred his vision when he glared at the thief. "What do you think you're doing?" Summer demanded standing behind him, holding the syringe loosely between her fingers.

"That's mine!" He bounded up, reaching for the syringe.

"The hell it is." She immediately took a step backwards, pulling her arm back so that the drug was out of reach. "Calm down before you hurt yourself," she said.

_Don't do it. Her father trained her remember? She's very good with hand to hand close quarter combat. She taught you all those Star Wars moves_, a calmer voice inside him reminded.

He didn't care. She pocketed the syringe and that was his and it'll make everything go away. She isn't helping. She was ready to let Raphael kill him in his own bed. In his own apartment! "Calm down? Calm down?" he shouted, in anger, convinced that this was the only way. "You let him in! He was about to kill me!" he cried, charging his fists at her.

"What?" was her brilliant confused reply as she blocked and pushed away every one of his attempts, back pedaling and dodging as she went. "No one's here, Spencer," she said, catching his wrist as he jabbed.

"You let him escape!" he accused, launching another cross punch with his other hand.

"What?" She caught his hand too. "The hell are you talking about?" she asked, knowing both his hands were caught, his arms were crossed and all she had to do was leverage with a bit of force to take him down. "Chill out!" she ordered as she twisted to lock his arms in place.

But he saw the flicker of hesitation in her eyes, and he smiled inwardly. She wasn't going to hurt him, he realized. She can't. She won't. And he could use this to his advantage. "Give it to me!" he yelled as he lashed out a foot to her mid section. "It's mine!"

She let his hands go and moved back to avoid the kick. "No." She quickly took the syringe, flicked off the cap and depressed the plunger. He stared helplessly mortified as liquid spurted out. "There. It's over," she stated gravely.

It was wasted on the floor. His only hope for salvation was now random drops on the slats of wood that made up his floor. The elixir was carelessly expended by someone he thought was on his side. This was unacceptable. More than unacceptable, this was plain rotten. "You witch!" He lunged for her, rage coursing through his blood.

He got her by the waist and tackled, slamming her into his bookshelf. He felt her body go rigid as the impact went through her body and he moved several steps back, basking in the euphoria of his victory. He watched her collapse to the floor. Books and figures toppled on her.

"Dammit," she cursed quietly, slowly putting her hand on the back of her head. She winced and closed her eyes for a moment. "Oh crap," she sighed, looking at her hand.

Blood.

There was blood on her hand.

Spencer's face fell, rattled beyond belief. He took several steps back but once he bumped into something, he found himself collapsing onto the floor, unable to take his eyes off Summer. What did... what did he just do?

She could've moved but she didn't, he realized, watching his friend swat the books away from her path. If she moved, he would've gone head first into the bookshelves. She took the hit because the result otherwise would've been far, far worse.

What has he done? There was no one here. There was no threat anywhere.

It was just them.

He was hallucinating.

It was the drugs- or lack thereof. Withdrawal.

He flinched when she looked his way. "You alright?" she asked, leaning against the bookcase, still wincing in pain. "Slim?" she called out gently. "Are you okay?"

He hurt her and she was asking him if he was okay?

Spencer felt the tears fall out of shame now, not anger. At least not at her. "Summer, I..." he sobbed unable to finish his sentence. He didn't know what to say. I'm sorry somehow doesn't fit right. An apology barely covers what he's done. And she can never know about.. about that time. "Sum..." was all he can say.

She crawled then knelt beside him. "Oh, dude, it's fine." She wrapped her arms around him, further fueling his remorse. "We're okay," she whispered, pressing her lips briefly on his forehead. "We're okay," She repeated, holding him tighter.

"Your... your head. You're... you're hurt," he stammered, as he held on to her.

"It's a scratch," she replied. She released him a little, giving him a small smile. "Just a scratch." She wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of long sleeves.

"That's what... Mercutio said." His voice hitched slightly as the tears subsided.

There was twitch at the corner of her lips before she chuckled lightly. "Shakespeare? Really?" she said with slight disbelief and amusement. "Your room is trashed and you think of Romeo and Juliet?"

"Isn't funny," he replied, though he could feel a small smile of his own threatening to break on his face. "You... you might be concussed."

"I've been through worse. It's just a small cut," Summer replied, earnestly. She slung one of his arms over her shoulders. "Now, come on, rockstar. Let's get you back to bed?" she suggested.

They both stood, slowly, and trudged back to his bed. He watched her gather the blanket he had thrown away. "You shouldn't sleep... If you're concussed," he managed to say when the blankets enveloped him again.

"Don't plan to. Five more chapters of medical text. I'm not a genius like you, you know," she replied, doing her best to tuck him in. "Try to get some rest, alright? I'll be right there on your chair," she said.

"I know." Spencer didn't know how long he had his eyes closed for. It seemed like an eternity. He felt like he heard every bus and car go up and down his street. He wasn't even sure if he had any sleep at all. What could have felt like hours could simply be minutes. Relativity. But there was one thing he was certain of- she shouldn't be sleeping.

"Summer?" he murmured, testing if she was, indeed awake.

"Slim?" he heard her reply.

The sound of her voice settled him, somewhat. She wasn't asleep. She's keeping her word. She was there, in the corner, sort of standing guard with a thick book on her lap that could totally knock a giant out. "Just checking," he said.

"Okay."

Moments passed.

"Summer?"

"Yeah?"

Spencer's lip twitched upwards, pleased, though he knew she probably didn't see. "You always smell like lavender."


	5. Chapter 5

Note: Summer is actually an OC for the Supernatural fics I write. I just figured to use her for Criminal Minds too instead of creating a whole new character from scratch. I'm lazy that way.

[ and thus there are some supernatural references in this one ]

oo oo oo oo oo

"Julia Roberts, I'm never going to laugh at your movies again," Summer swore as she tenderly examined the bruise that was starting to form on her cheek. Which really, begs the question- Why do guys always know how to hit a woman right across the cheek?

Of course, the hit wasn't really intentional. She was trying to force feed a guy who could barely get himself out of bed. He going for the bowl of congee, only in his half delirious state, he over estimated both aim and strength and hit her instead.

Wonder of wonders- the guy can throw a punch.

To his credit, that worked too. She accidentally dropped the bowl of congee when she got hit. Thus, no more congee. Different method. Same result.

She sighed, knowing there was nothing much she could do but be a trooper. It's not like she could leave him even though everything was starting to gnaw on her nerves. She can swear the apartment was getting smaller. Even when she opened the windows in the living room, the air, for some reason, seemed stale. And honestly, she didn't know what else to tell people on why their usually quiet, well mannered and respectful neighbor Spencer Reid, was spurts of bloody hell yelling and screaming.

It's a wonder how they haven't called the police. And really. How would that conversation go? Nowhere good, that's for sure.

The fact is, Summer thought this was all too weird. Like there was a glitch in the matrix. There was just things she couldn't seem to wrap her head around.

For example- Medically, lethargy, body aches and muscle stiffness were withdrawal symptoms. So is confusion, anxiety and nervousness- all of which he was exhibiting. It's been at least thirty hours since his last supposed dose. Everything's she's read on the drug says that the symptoms should be tapering down.

Then again, it also said that it was case to case. And God knows that Spencer Reid was always the exception to the rule.

Still, she can't shake the uneasy feeling that the dilaudid he was taking, like so many other drugs, was cut with something else. So she knew in all honesty that he didn't mean any of it, not the fight at dawn, not the thrashing in bed, not the half baked snappy remarks, not the backhand slap.

It was just his body craving the drugs.

Which is another box of questions all together. Why was he abusing dilaudid? How did he get the vials? And... just... What is really going on? She's asked it all once and he just gave him a twitchy kind of reaction then looked away. Which makes it even weirder. This is Spencer Reid. He's by far the most low risk person she knew. Sure he had a stressful job but being an FBI agent was his dream job. Before he registered to join the FBI academy, he even called her to help train him to at least minimally pass the physical exam. And for a month before she had to fly to Greece to help in an archeology dig site, he swallowed all the push ups, sit ups, pull ups and runs, that he's never had to do before, like a champ. This was a guy who would look at something, play with his fingers and then tell her the general statistics to, in his words, "let her make an intelligent, informed decision." So she was quite sure that he knew what he was doing when he decided to shoot up.

She could hear him calling out for her now, albiet weakly, bringing her back to the present. She didn't quite understand why, but among other things, he seemed to be afraid of being alone. "What is up with that?" she asked herself as she made her way back to the room. Separation anxiety was one thing. How he was acting, however seemed more like something was haunting him and he wouldn't give it up.

She paused for a second right before she stepped through the doorway to his room.

Wait a second.

Haunting?

Ghosts?

Evil spirits?

"Salt and burn?" she mused for second before she shook her head. She can't salt and burn Slim. "God, what am I thinking?" she breathed. Maybe she is concussed. She had to salt and burn the remains of whatever's doing the haunting- if there was a haunting here at work at all which is highly unlikely. There's no sign anywhere. He could just be reliving a nightmare in every gory detail. God knows, the guy probably remembers every second of everything that happens around him.

Damn that eidetic memory.

She played with her necklace, a relatively thumb sized pale pink teardrop Himalayan salt crystal she wore all day every day to help ward of evil- or at least that's the theory. In actuality, most of the time, it helps her think, not that it hasn't saved her here and there. "Salt, salt, salt..." she repeated to herself. There was something there nagging her, telling her the solution was there all along. There was a salt that helps the body function, relieves stress, muscle aches and pain. Flotation therapy...

"Summer?" she heard her friend call out- more panicked this time.

"Miss me?" she teased as she came in and he looked instantly relieved, almost like a little boy. But the moment she saw the mess in the room- the broken bookshelf, the pile of books, the congee on the floor, the trash can with vomit-something clicked inside her mind. "Magnesium sulfate," she mumbled to herself, "Epsom salt."

"What?" Spencer asked weakly, eyes closed, trying to block what little sunlight was coming in the room with a pillow.

"Hang tight. I'm going to draw you a bath," she stated, marching out the door.

oo oo oo oo oo oo oo o

She helped him get to the washroom. He didn't want to take a bath. In fact, all he wanted to do was stay in bed and mope because everytime he tried to bring himself upright, he felt like he was on a boat. He tried to reason with her but Summer was insistent.

Scarily so.

However, when he did see his tub, he couldn't help but be stunned. There scent of lavender gently wafted in the air. A great thick layer of bubbles floated on top of the water, to the point that he couldn't see where the water line was. There was even a picturesque looking yellow rubber duck hanging out between mountains of happy soap suds.

Where in the world did she get a rubber duck?

He certainly didn't own one.

He didn't even own anything that smelled like lavender.

When this girl puts her mind to something...

"Um... Slim, I refuse to help you strip," she said, uncomfortably, beside him. "You're on your own here."

"Summer," he called out before she disappeared out the door.

"Dude. No. I am not helping you get to your birthday suit. Picard said it best- The line must be drawn here. This far and no further," she replied, raising both her hands.

The Star Trek reference made him smirk. "I wouldn't want you to anyway," he replied honestly. "I just wanted to ask if you could maybe not close the door all the way?" he requested meekly.

She tilted her head slightly to one side, her brows furrowed in concern. "Okaaay," she drawled. "I can do that..."

"Thanks."

To his eternal pleasure she left the door an inch open, enough for her to walk pass and not see anything but enough for him to know that when he called, she would hear. He slowly lowered himself to the waiting tub. Warm water and lavender suds surrounded him. It was a weird comfort, the tub. He felt like he was floating. He quite liked the lightness he felt. It was the direct contrast on how he's been feeling for the last few days. He even found himself playing with the duck- creating valleys and mountains of suds for it to pass through.

It was so simple. It was just a bath but he felt better as he leaned his head on one corner, just watching the duck float while listening to the light footsteps going up and down his apartment. "Hey little thing let me light your chemicals coz mama I'm sure hard to handle now," he heard her faint voice sing as she passed by the washroom door. And he knew she was doing that for his benefit. It wa a subtle reminder that she was around somewhere outside the washroom.

"Guess what," he whispered to the duck, giving it a small pat,"We're safe here."

It bobbed, as if to agree with him.

He sighed with relief, gladly sinking further down the water.


	6. Chapter 6

Note: Summer is actually an OC for the Supernatural fics I write. I just figured to use her for Criminal Minds too instead of creating a whole new character from scratch. I'm lazy that way.

oo oo oo oo oo

There were three of them. They were shadows at first, standing by his window and he couldn't see against the light. Eventually, the came nearer with slow measured steps, their foot falls on the wood echoing within the walls of his room. Three faces of the same person stood around his bed, surrounding him. It was mid afternoon sunshine made it everything more surreal.

"Deuteronomy 5:20 Neither shall you bear false witness against your neighbor," one of Hankel faces spitefully boomed. "Toying with an innocent is a sin, boy."

It was Charles Hankel- Spencer could feel his body grow numb in fear. All he wanted to do was move away as far away from the man as possible but his body couldn't. His limbs were disconnected to his will. "I'm.. I'm not toying... toying with anyone," he defended, frustration mounting.

Charles Hankel lashed his arm, the back of his wrists hitting his cheek hard. Spencer felt the pain radiate through his head and neck as the force displaced him. "How does it feel, boy?" the man demanded. "Matthew 7:12."

"So... in everything, do to others what... what you would have them do to you for … for this-" Spencer sobbed as he stated the verse"-this sums up the Law and the Prophets," he finished in fear. "I... I don't understand. I haven't... I haven't done anything."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways," a calm but stern voice answered, showing him a bullet. Raphael stood on the foot of his bed, loading the revolver he had on hand.

He spun the barrel.

No.

Not again.

"Tobias...please" he begged the third figure. "Tobias, help me."

"I'm.. I'm sorry," Tobias managed to stutter. "It'll be all... all be over in a second. Don't... don't worry."

Raphael pointed the gun at him, stoic and uncaring as ever. "This is God's will," he said, putting his finger on the trigger.

Spencer tried as hard as he could to will his hands and feet to move. But his limbs felt like lead, unwilling to do what they were told. He tried to scream. No sound came. And when he tried to use all his energy and might to at least make himself as small as possible, he felt his wrists being pinned down to the bed.

"What the... Oh crap," he heard a girl curse. "Spencer!" She sounded like she was struggling too. "Spencer!" she called louder. "Open your eyes, Slim! Wake up!"

Spencer opened his eyes wide open like he was told. He blinked several times as the room righted itself. He found himself breathing hard, covered in sweat and staring at the blue eyes that hovered above him. "Summer?"

It was her pinning him down, he realized. She was on top of him, straddling him so he couldn't move. And it wasn't mid afternoon. No, the clock was telling him it's three in the morning.

"I'm going to let you go now. But you better not try anything funny," she said slowly and carefully. "Understand?"

"Okay." he agreed and she nodded. He watched her move off him. The weight on his belly eased as she released his wrists, pinned on either side of his head. She then sat on the empty space on the other half of his bed. She ran a hand through her hair as she took a deep breath and slowly let it go.

"What... what happened?" he asked.

Summer shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted. "I think I fell asleep somewhere in chapter 24 and the next thing I know, you're mumbling things and beating yourself..." she trailed off. "I'm sorry. I should've been keeping watch. I should've woken you-"

"No," he quickly cut her off. "You're tired too, Summer. You..." he gave her a small smile, unable to put into words what he wanted to say while he was still trying to catch his breath. "It was.. it was a nightmare. Nothing else. Just... Just a nightmare,?" he said, trying to believe it himself.

"Uh-huh," she replied unconvinced. "Well, genius, you're right about one thing," she eventually said.

"What's about?" he inquired.

"I need to sleep. I've had like four hours in the past fifty one," she answered, getting off the bed. Then much to his surprise, she slipped under the covers and plumped the pillow on that side of the bed. "What?" she asked, when she finally noticed that he was staring at her with utter confusion.

"Summer, you're in my bed."

"I know." She stretched her arms out over her head. "Don't know if you've noticed, Slim, but you've been afraid to be alone in a room since I got here."

"No, I'm not." he argued slightly embarrassed both by the charge and the way his voice sounded like a squeak.

She, however just gave him a doubtful gaze, but started to get off his bed. "Okay man. I'll just sleep on the sofa outside then." She grabbed the pillow off the bed. "Goodnight, Slim."

Spencer pressed his lips together uneasily watching her round his bed and head for the door. _No, don't leave_, his mind tried to plead as his breath bated when she touched the doorknob. "Okay okay okay. Summer, please stay." He gave up, hating how he sounded like a child.

"I knew it!" She raised her arms up in victory before bounding over his body and to the other side. "Shame on you if you think you could fool me. I'm not as smart as you but I'm smarter than the average bear," she said, making herself comfortable under the covers of the other half of the bed. "Although, that's some nightmare..." she drifted somewhat, staring at the ceiling. "G'night, Slim."

"Goodnight Summer." He closed his eyes. There was a foot of space in between them but just knowing she was there fueled the rise of better memories. Like the first time they met in that bus going to California. He was just twelve then, turning thirteen, going to Caltech for the first time with a chaperone from the school. His chaperon had fallen asleep, leaving him to deal with the bullies a row diagonally behind him, throwing balls of paper his way. Some of their balls went over, hitting the people sitting at the row infront of his instead. After the fourth miss, an eight year old Summer Wind McKenzie had had enough. With her slingshot, she returned the balls aiming for their faces and drinks. Apparently, she had been trying to finish her homeschooling worksheets- worksheets that were two grade levels above what she should've been studying in the first place. Her mother switched seats with him after. So he sat beside Summer, who immediately invited him to join them for a burger dinner. And the McKenzies brought him from Nevada to California every year ever since until her parents died. But even after, she was only a phone call away.

The family, he learned throughout the years, had some peculiar habits, like making lines of salt. He attributed it to their lifestyle. They were nomads really. They went from one archeology dig to the next, one treasure hunt to the other, job to job around the world until summer came and their daughter needed to go take the yearly proficiency exam. Every year, she brought him small little trinkets and photos and stories of what they did. For a few weeks every year, he would be with the McKenzies. Once they needed to talk to a museum curator and they brought them with them to where they stored the items that weren't displayed. Then there was this time he had managed to convince Summer to actually sit still and watch whole seasons of Star Trek. Or that time that her dad wanted to teach them how to surf. The pretend lightsaber fights. The nights filled with Jenga competitions where he learned his engineering background was useless.

One year, they went camping for a few days before school started. They held hands across sleeping bags because they were both afraid of the dark.

Spencer opened his eyes and watched the still figure beside him curiously. "Summer?"

"Hm?"

"Are you still afraid of the dark?" he asked.

"Lots of reasons to be scared of the dark, Slim," she answered yawning. "Why?"

"Nothing," he answered quickly. "Just something I thought of."

"Okay." She turned to face him with a Cheshire cat of a grin. She held out her hand. "Want to kick this old school?"

Yes. Yes, he did.

Spencer breathed a little better. Her hand with his reminded him of the simple belief he had back then in that campsite. If something came to get either of them, the other would know because they were holding each other's hands. In hindsight it was probably childish of them to dare the darkness to come because what they believed what may happen wouldn't matter.

"Book smart and street smart," his mother had said once.

They were in it together.

Like they were now.

That was the comforting last thought Spencer had before he fell asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Note: Summer is actually an OC for the Supernatural fics I write. I just figured to use her for Criminal Minds too instead of creating a whole new character from scratch. I'm lazy that way.

oo oo oo oo oo

"Un homme arme d'un revolver.." Spencer heard his friend murmur in her sleep. "Dad... ciudado..." He paused for a moment from his reading, giving the sleeping girl a concerned gaze when she let out a small gasp. It was a rare occurrence for Summer to talk in her sleep. And he knew that when she did, she was either really stressed or really tired or both. The latter, he decided, was the one he'd bet on. What he put her through...

He gave her hand a small squeeze.

She whined quietly, "But mom... wo yao jiaozi."

Spencer chuckled lightly. She might have been raised to be able to speak different languages and when unconscious lose the ability to choose which language she wants to use, but he was pretty sure she just asked for dumplings in Mandarin.

The light filtering through his drawn curtains didn't seem to affect him anymore. In fact, he hasn't felt this rested in weeks. He felt sluggish and it seemed like he hasn't shaked the shakes but otherwise everything felt... better. The world had stopped spinning and he could sit down and read a book without being nauseated.

Which was great because the nearest book was Summer's thick medical one. She probably dropped it in a hurry when she stopped him from hurting himself earlier this morning. It was the only one he could reach without getting out of bed or letting go of her hand. And he had no doubt in his mind that she would totally throw it at him if he vomited on it.

And she's not going to miss.

He looked at her sleeping form and for some reason, remembered what Charles Hankel said in his dream. "Neither shall you bear false witness against your neighbor. Toying with an innocent is a sin, boy," he repeated to himself.

Toying with an innocent...

He asked her to help deal with his problem but ignored her when she asked how he came to this point. It wasn't right. He knew it wasn't right. When it came down to it, he knew it was unfair that she was helping him without knowing anything else besides from the fact that he wanted to be free of the drugs.

He justified his actions, thinking that she hid a lot of things from him too. The reason why she was so adamant about sunscreen wasn't because she was concerned of skin disease. She had scars on her limbs. There's even a tiny one on her left brow and one three inches long running diagonally on the right side of her neck. Old scars that used to be angry and pink but were now just thin white lines, barely noticeable against her pale skin. She can't tan because scar tissue does not tan.

He used to ask about them but she always deflected the question or changed the subject. When they were younger, her sleeves would always be slightly longer than her actual arms- to hide the scars. Eventually, he stopped asking, knowing that he wouldn't get a satisfactory answer anyway. He was sure it was the lifestyle they led and not abuse that cause them. And Summer herself was an energetic kid.

However, now that his head felt clearer, Spencer realized that while she never told him everything, she never dumped her problems on him either.

Toying with an innocent is a sin.

And he was toying with her.

"я забыл пакет соли!» She said, suddenly sitting up, suddenly awake.

Spencer eyed his friend with concern." Summer..."

She turned her head, blue eyes still wide and surprised. Then she let the breath she had been holding out and laid back down on the pillow. "Oh man... Sorry," she sighed.

"Um... what's going on?" he asked.

"Oh," she shrugged, giving him a sleepy smile, " I was dreaming that we were going on a trip..." she said.

"So what you just said was...?" he prompted.

"I was telling my dad that I forgot to pack the salt. Russian," she replied, yawning.

"Oh. Okay."

Then she bolted up again, staring at him this time. "Slim!" she exclaimed.

"Hey..." he tentatively greeted, giving her a small wave.

"You're up!" She pointed out, slightly shocked.

"So it seems."

"We're having a decent conversation."

"Not one I'm fully understanding at the moment if I have to be honest."

"No, I mean," she paused. "You're not..." she paused again. "You're lucid," she finally said. A big grin took the place of her otherwise confused face. Spencer felt himself match her smile himself. He couldn't help it. It was her energy- it was infectious. It always has been. "So you're feeling alright?" she inquired.

"A bit stiff and my head feels a bit dull," he replied honestly. "And..." He lifted his hand to show her he was still a shaking a bit. "But otherwise, I guess I feel fine."

She gave him a once over then gave him a sheepish expression. "Fine enough to maybe go out for breakfast?"

"I'm 90% sure I can stand on my own two feet today," he answered, confidently.

"Great!" she cheered. She bounded of the bed. "Actually, I was going to go out anyway because we're out of food. But it'll be so much cooler if we both left the apartment. Fresh air and all, " she explained, heading for the door. "I'm going to the washroom," she declared, stepping out of the room.

_Tell her tell her tell her, _a voice nagged, _You owe it to her._

Spencer sighed in defeat. It's true. "Summer," he called out, slightly uncomfortable.

Her head popped in the room. "You cannot come with me to the washroom. Remember? Line? Drawn? Here? Picard? Star Trek? You made me watch it?" she reminded him.

He gave her a small smile. "It's not that," he replied quietly, playing with his fingers, trying to diffuse his nerves.

She came back inside the room, more concerned this time. "Slim? What's the matter?"

He took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. "We had.. um... we had a case," he started uneasily the memories he desperately tried to forget came rushing back. "The unsub- he had multiple personalities. His name is Tobias Hankel."

He saw her sit down by his bedside, quiet, just listening to him. She didn't interrupt. She didn't ask questions. She barely even moved. She just sat down and held his hands- again. And when she did, he found that he couldn't do anything else but tell her the whole story.

God acts in mysterious ways.


	8. Chapter 8

Note: Summer is actually an OC for the Supernatural fics I write. I just figured to use her for Criminal Minds too instead of creating a whole new character from scratch. I'm lazy that way.

oo oo oo oo oo

"Reid's not answering his phone," Emily Prentiss announced inside the cabin just as the jet touched down.

"Garcia said he hasn't been answering since we left. That was Wednesday," JJ replied. "It took everything I had to tell her to wait for us to come back before charging into his apartment."

"Well, we're back now. I say we go find the kid," Morgan planned. "I'll have Garcia track his phone then maybe we can figure out what's going on."

"Don't you think that you're all over reacting?" the voice of reason named Hotch said calmly.

"But Hotch, this is Reid we're talking about," Morgan countered.

"Exactly. Reid asked for some personal time from the BAU and you're asking yourselves why he hasn't answered a call from us. The BAU," Hotch reasoned.

"But Hotch-" It was JJ this time.

And quite frankly Jason Gideon had enough of this. "Why don't you all just leave this to me," he interjected, looking at his team from the top of his glasses. "I'll go to his place, see if anything's amiss. You guys get some rest," he said, casually.

"Gideon." Morgan frowned.

"You won't get anything from him if you all corner him," he replied evenly.

And with that, Morgan, thankfully, gave up.

These kids these days are nothing but persistent. Jason could attest to that. This last case had been hell. Leads went cold. The profile needed adjusting. The team gave it their all anyway with no complains- well almost no complain. At least once everyday, someone would say something in the lines of- "Where's Reid when you need him."

Which wasn't really true. They solved the case without their youngest agent, though, even he had to admit that maybe it would've been easier if he were on board. What it really showed Gideon was that the genius was in everybody's mind. They were worried about his sudden disappearance especially the with the way he's been acting lately. The team proved once again that they are family. They cared.

He cared too.

Which is why Jason found himself parking the government SUV two blocks away from Reid's apartment. No sense of scaring the kid with a government vehicle on a Saturday if something were wrong. He walked the rest of the way, thinking of a plan of action. How exactly does he tell Reid that he was just in the neighborhood for brunch and remembered he lived nearby so he stopped by to see if he wanted to go get a bite?

"The premise of all romantic comedies," Gideon found himself saying to himself in disgust.

Does that even work?

On anyone?

Without sounding like a stalker?

He shoved his hands further down his thick coat as he turned the corner. Reid apartment was just two buildings away. Maybe honesty was the best policy here. He could just say that the team had been concerned and he was here to check if he was really okay. It didn't sound less lame but at least it sounded less creepy.

But much to his surprise, he saw the person in question standing outside on the steps of his building. With one hand in his coat pocket, Reid was rocking on his heels, lips pressed into an amused, wry kind of smile as he checked his mobile phone. He couldn't see his eyes due to the sunglasses he wore but his demeanor was relaxed- like he was waiting for someone.

True enough, a few seconds later, a girl sort of skipped out the door, jumping down the steps like a child until she was only a step above Reid. Wearing a long blood red tunic shirt, black slim cut jeans, wedge boots, leather jacket, thick blue and white tie dyed scarf and a bright yellow orange hat, she didn't look like much of a threat. Her sunglasses were hooked to her jeans pocket. She quickly wore them, hiding her blue eyes behind the big aviator frames.

Jason took a step to hide himself from the two, lest he gets spotted. He wanted to observe the interaction. If there was something wrong, it should present itself. Reid knows all too well how to hide because he knows the signs they look for. But he can't hide anything if he didn't know that he was being watched. It's human behavior. And that's what profilers do- study human behavior.

He watched Reid raise his mobile phone to her, with a humoured smile. "Really?" he asked.

The girl took the phone, her hands had multiple bracelets and rings. She passed it back with a shrug. "What about it?" She sounded confused.

"Summer, I don't text," Reid replied plainly. "And here I was wondering why I have so many missed calls from the team."

"So you're telling me that texting is like..." The girl named Summer paused. "Texting is like your bat-signal?"

"Well, not exactly. The bat signal is a distress signal device that Commissioner Gordon uses to ask for Batman's help. And while I see how you could see the similarities, the fact is, I wasn't calling out for their help." Reid said quickly.

There was a pause between them before the girl broke into a mischievous grin. "So text them," she suggested.

"Summer, I just told you-"

"I heard you the first time. You don't text," she replied. "But check it out. You have a text capable phone. You have opposable thumbs," she wiggled her thumbs, "You're capable of texting. So it's not that you don't text, it's more the fact that you haven't sent one yet. So why don't you send a mass text saying that you're A- okay," she argued.

"Or," Reid wagged his phone at her, "I could just call them," he stated.

"You really want to explain six different times why you haven't answered calls for days?" she inquired. "If you do, we're going to be here awhile."

The agent flinched. "Okay, I see your point," he yielded, pointing to his phone. "How do I send this so called... mass text?"

Gideon watched, surprised more than anything else. She was on the step above him, on tip toes, trying to see what he was doing over his shoulder. And he had this serious expression as he tried to complete the task. Their back and forth sounded like they've known each other for awhile. He himself, has never seen Reid so relaxed with another person. The person he knew wouldn't be able to stand in such close proximity with another person- let alone a girl. This Summer, though, was sort of leaning on him as she pointed out things on his phone. It was odd to see. He's never mentioned her.

But then again, he knew from experience that most people keep something just to themselves. Noone shares everything with everyone- even with a team as close knit as theirs.

"I sent it!" Reid declared victoriously.

The girl gave him several pats on the shoulder. "Welcome to the year 2007, Slim. It's a new world out there," she dryly congratulated.

"Now they're going to expect me to text all the time. You know, I wouldn't have been placed in this position if you had just called them," he shot back gamely.

"Oh yes. And let them think that there's a strange girl in your apartment," Summer replied flatly, as they went down the stairs together. "How do you BAU people call it? Unsub?"

"You're not strange, Sum," Reid answered. "Your hat is strange but you're not strange."

The girl spun around walking backwards down the street. "My hat isn't strange," she defended, "My hat is cool. It keeps my head and my ears warm. I like my hat."

"Agreed. The material used is very good for keeping a person warm. But what does that small yarn ball on top do?" he teased.

"Slim, it's a Jayne's hat," she stated.

"What's a Jayne?" was the agent's brilliant answer.

Gideon watched the girl put up her hand and stop walking, dumbstruck. Reid just shoved his hands further down his pockets, and looked expectantly down at his fried.

"You made me watch seasons and seasons worth of space westerns when we were kids and you don't know Firefly?" she exclaimed. "Dude!"

"Summer, shhhh," Reid hushed her, giving a guilty smile at the passersby that glanced their way. "People are watching. You're acting like an unsub," he teasingly chastised, much to Gideon's surprise. Well, this was a side to the prodigy he had never seen before

"Oh ho, will you look at that. Someone feels better and is getting cocky," the girl shot back, smirking.

"That's true." Reid grinned. "I do feel better."

The girl just rolled her eyes and turned around. "Well after we get something to eat, we're hitting a dvd shop to correct this travesty."

Gideon watched Reid catch up, a mischievous smile growing on his face. He started to play with his fingers. Gideon knew that look- as if playing with his fingers was he could do to occupy himself. But when the genius started darting his eyes around, face all crinkled, the senior agent knew this was different.

Reid lifted a hand, his grin widening, and flicked the pom pom on top of the girl's hat.

Jason chuckled when the girl turned, eyes wide in surprise and outrage. "I'm sorry Summer. But I can't help it. It was right there. Just asking for it," was his quick defense, his voice a rose to a whole new octave.

"It's called self control, bud," Summer replied, rolling her eyes. "Who's the unsub now?"

Gideon smiled and walked back towards the SUV. The kid was fine. He did have a friend. There was no foul play here. There was no need to worry. Not today.

His phone beeped and out of habit, he quickly took it out.

It was a text from Reid.

"I apologize for missing your calls. I wasn't well so I had a friend come over. However, I feel much better now so please don't be concerned. I'm fine. See you all on Monday. And look! My friend taught me how to text :) "

oo oo ooo oooooo oo

note: what's that? yes, i updated twice yesterday. Yes, i updated twice today. This fic is basically writing itself :) one more bit and this fic is done!


	9. Chapter 9

Note: Summer is actually an OC for the Supernatural fics I write. I just figured to use her for Criminal Minds too instead of creating a whole new character from scratch. I'm lazy that way.

ok honestly, the chapter before this was what i thought would be the last chapter. But then, i thought- there are some loose ends. So one more lengthy lap, :) Some NCIS bits here and supernatural concepts

oo oo oo oo oo

Brand new shoes.

There was something about his brand new shoes that sat well with him. Normally, having a brand new routine, shoes included, threw him off. Human beings are a creature of habit after all and he had his own way to go about his life. Of course, when he almost slipped on a patch of ice he didn't see yesterday, it prompted Summer, who he almost pulled down with him, to examine his shoes.

He earned another expression of disbelief when he pulled up his pant leg. "Slim, you have grandpa shoes."

"They're made out of leather. They keep the water out. My feet stay dry and they're quite comfortable," he had defended.

"There's also no tread in them. And you're only 25," she had pointed out.

"I don't know. I always thought I was an old soul," he had replied, grinning at his old brown "grandpa" shoes.

He had heard Summer snicker like he expected her to. "Old sole," she had said, rolling her eyes.

They had gone to a store and bought a pair of sneakers. Chuck Taylors. And they were actually quite comfortable. He liked them a lot. The design hasn't changed since 1917 which prompted his friend to make a pun about new, old soles for the new old soul.

Poetic really.

But poetry had nothing to do about going to work in them. They might be leather on top but they were still sneakers.

Unfortunately, when he woke up this morning, he found Summer already up and dressed, studying her book on his sofa. He didn't think anything about it at first, after all, she was falling behind on those readings. But when he was about to leave, he found that his shoes were not where he had left them and in its place were the new sneakers.

She had hidden them!

"Way I see it," she had said, grinning like a maniac, "It's either you go find your shoes, risk slipping on ice and break a bone, and be super late for work. Or you wear the Chucks, not slip, and be on time."

"You're suppose to be my friend!"

She just raised her mug of coffee his way and gave him a cheeky smiled. "I am."

So he adjusted the strap of his bag and took a deep breath before stepping out of the elevator. Several agents greeted him as he made his way to the glass doors of the BAU. "Here goes nothing," he told himself, steeling his nerves as he pushed the doors, hoping nobody would notice that he wasn't in work appropriate shoes, and beelined for the coffee machine.

He pressed his lips and gave the man who was already there a tight smile. Derek Morgan. Why did it have to be him? He notices everything! And it was just his luck that Morgan eyed him from head to toe before he even had the chance to get his mug. "Well well, look it. Dr. Spencer Reid graces us with his presence," Morgan greeted with a big, almost relieved smile. "How did your leave days go?"

"I think I had taken something that didn't agree with me so it wasn't very pretty for a few days. I felt much better Saturday though," he answered noncommittally as he filled his mug with the dark liquid. "I sent you a text. Didn't you get it?"

"Oh no, kid. I got your text," Morgan replied. "But then, you've never sent a text before so you can see how we found it kind of weird."

"At least someone finally brought you to the 21st century," a voice behind him commented. Emily Prentiss came, empty mug in hand. "Oh!" she exclaimed, pausing two feet away. "New shoes and texting," she noticed.

Spencer could feel his cheeks warm with all the attention. He tried to act casual, mixing the sugar in with his coffee. "I couldn't find my normal shoes this morning," he defended.

Morgan nodded approvingly. "Must be some weekend to lose your shoes," he prodded.

"Actually it was!" Spencer grinned. He just thought of exactly what to tell them. "I bought new bookshelves from this store in Georgetown. They carry ones that go from floor to ceiling. I have so much storage space now it's making me want to buy new books to fill it up. And, most importantly, they deliver and build it for you for no extra cost," he related. He could see their eyebrows shoot up like they always do when they wanted to say, _Is he for real? _They were losing interest. It was working.

So he cleared his throat and readied the closer. "Then, my friend introduced me to this space western called Firefly. It's about this rag tag group of drifters who eventually discovers a government conspiracy concerning-"

"So it was a good weekend then," Morgan interjected, before he could say anything further.

Spencer tried not to smile when they reacted just like he thought they would. Anytime he starts talking about anything science fiction, more often then not, they shut down. "Yes it was," he answered, moving towards his desk victoriously.

"Reid!"

He turned around at the person who called. Jason Gideon was leaning on the railings on the landing infront of his office. Oh yes, he was in trouble now. He was going to ask him to change out of his comfy sneakers for sure. "Yes, sir?" he asked.

"Nice shoes," Gideon said before disappearing.

Spencer sat on his chair, unable to keep the smile off his face despite the tower of files on his desk. Yep, these shoes sat well him. Almost as good as his mismatched socks.

oo oooo oo o o o o o

Summer McKenzie sighed while waiting in line for coffee.

Who knew that after three days of hell she was going to have three days of fun? A Firefly/ Serenity marathon ensued Saturday night. Spencer was fine enough that she slept on the couch. They bought bookshelves and shoes and walked around Sunday. Then a Jenga tournament, which in hindsight, she won unfairly because he still had the shakes. Hiding his old shoes was fun too. Then today, Monday, she had brunch in Georgetown with some archaeologists and linguists she used to see in dig sites, but has since grown older and now teach in the University. Brunch became a bit of work after, when Dr. Kelly said he wanted to show her some of his new discoveries. Interesting enough, she now knew where she was going on her next school break- Dr. Sophia invited her on a dig in Sudan.

Awesome.

Today had been a productive day for sure, but she was still behind on her readings. And since all she needed to do now was wait for Spencer to get some dinner and take her to the airport, she decided to catch up with her studies in a comfortable cafe. Coffee and walls of text was all she had to look forward to until Spencer called. And she got through them just fine until she one chapter talked about mental illnesses.

Schizophrenia.

Which made her think about Diana Reid.

Which then, made her think about Spencer Reid.

And that Hankel case he confessed to.

It took a lot for him to tell him that story. Hell, it took a lot for him to ask for help. Spencer was the type to bottle things up, and act like everything's peachy even if it wasn't. She knew him enough to know that he downplayed what really happened by using less charged words like 'restricted my movement' instead of 'tied me up on a chair' and 'hit me' instead of 'tortured me'. Even then it sounded horrifying.

And it explained everything.

He wanted to forget and she couldn't blame him.

Charles Hankel started a chain of destruction and it just snowballed from there. There's simply no possibility for a happy ending in that story. Nobody the Hankels touched was going to leave unscathed. Spencer most of all, having to live through it first hand.

_Human beings_, she thought shaking her head, _sometimes we're worse than the monsters_.

Which reminded her that she had to make a few calls. A nagging voice in her head was telling her to make sure those Hankels were cremated. Maybe season them with salt before they roast too, if possible. Maybe even the property. For good measure. Can't have their vengeful spirits continue their M.O. From the grave. That would be terrible— more people would suffer the same way Spencer did.

And nobody can arrest a ghost.

She couldn't have that.

She wouldn't wish that on her worst enemy.

She sighed again, sitting back down on her little nook but unable to read anymore course material. It bothered her everytime she thought about it. Yes, Spencer was out of the drugs, and she was confident that this was a guy who is not going to relapse. Yes, Spencer knew he can always call her if there's anything at all he wanted to talk about- she made him promise and he's never broken a promise before. And yes, she made sure he knew that if he needed her, she'd stop everything and come running from the other coast- not that he'd do it often. The guy hated to impose.

It was the big picture that annoyed her. It was the big picture she couldn't do anything about.

The chapter she just read about schizophrenia worried her. The possibility that Spencer inherits his mother's schizophrenia already existed. But the drug use, no matter how brief, and his stressful job increased his risks of triggering an event. And she knew that he was so terribly scared of it. She was scared for him as well.

But it's not like she can ask him to quit nor will he listen. He loves being an FBI agent. He loves the BAU. And it was against her personal beliefs to tell a person what he or she should do with her life. God knows that she's cut off a lot of people from hers because they wouldn't let go of doing just that. It's childish, she knew, but she's determined to do whatever she wants. And by doing so, she had to allow other people to do the same.

But it doesn't mean it doesn't worry her.

What's worse is that he probably wouldn't forget this for the rest of his life. She wish there could be a drug to erase just that part of his brain but there wasn't. He was born with an eidetic memory. There's nothing she can do about it.

_There has to be a better way to go about this than just being there for support_, she thought frowning. _There's got to be a way to stop the fall. _

"Would you look at that, Duck. Little Sinatra comes to town and she doesn't even tell us," a familiar voice said, breaking he thoughts.

"Now, Jethro, I'm sure she has her reasons. Don't you, dear?" a pair eyes teased from behind his glasses.

Summer lifted her gaze, surprised to see two older men she hasn't seen since God knows when, expecting her to reply. A tall lithe ex marine raised an eyebrow at her while a Scottish medical examiner just looked on with patience. Oh yes, she knew those looks. There was no getting rid of them. She grinned, slamming her book shut, and standing to greet them. "I've forgotten that you guys come here," she said, mentally slapping herself. "What am I saying? Of course you do. You're the one who brought me to this coffee shop the first time."

"Glad to see your memory is up to snuff," the old gunnery sergeant replied, taking a seat, across her. "What brings you to D.C. Summer Wind McKenzie? Aren't you suppose to be in med school?"

The small cocky pauses between pronouncing her name made her smirk. Nope, nothing's changed with this one. "Are you keeping tabs on me, Gunny?" she asked, amused.

"Are you not answering my question, Sinatra?" he shot back.

"Summer, dear, I think I speak for both of us when I say that we're just concerned that it is the middle of a school semester and you are not in school as you should be," the examiner said. "That being said, be honest with us. Are you in any trouble?" he inquired.

"Oh come on Ducky, you know me," she replied with a shrug.

The ex marine calmly placed his drink on the table. "Precisely."

She chuckled. "Relax, man. A friend of mine fell sick, that's it." She saw the testing look of uncertainty from the two gentlemen. "Oh come on, I know better than to lie to you people."

"You better not be."

"Psh. You know I'm not. "

"When are you leaving?"

"Tonight."

"Need a ride?"

"No thanks. I got one. You're not the only people I know around here, you know." She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. "Gee, Gunny, if I were a lesser person, I'd think you're trying to get me out of your town asap," she baited.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," the older man teased, with a small smile of his own.

The Scot sighed. "The way you two show your concern and affection-" he shook his head.

"It's his fault," she automatically replied, pointing at the marine, who just rolled his eyes. "So, Gunny. How many ships have you made since I saw you last?" she asked, casually. The guy gave her a snort. This was going to be interesting.

It wasn't the solution she was looking for but it was good distraction from her own spiraling thoughts.

ooo ooo ooo oo oo oo

"Summer."

"Hm?"

"You've been quiet."

Spencer saw the girl turn to look at him. "Have I?" she asked, not even realizing that she has been lost in her own thoughts.

Spencer found her in the cafe, where she said she would be. She was with two older gentlemen , both could've passed for her father.

One of them, back straight, salt and pepper hair, had that look about him. Organized. Systematic. No nonsense. Military- or at least ex military.. Every minute he would scan the room. He looked relaxed enough that Spencer knew he wasn't afraid to be spotted- more like he was looking out for potential danger. By the way the man carried himself, the profiler was sure that the man was still in law enforcement. By the lack of uniform, he'd wager that he was a federal agent.

The other man, more elderly, a kinder face seemed to be less rigid. Spencer guessed he could be a professor or a doctor of some kind. A colleague maybe of mister agent man.

It was weird to watch them even for a second. Summer talked about the academics she grew up with all the time. The people she met at dig sites growing up, who she previously worked for as a researcher, the people who use to hire her for the summer to meet them somewhere in the world where artifacts are being unearthed even if she didn't have a degree in the field- she mentioned them all. These were the stories she told him everytime they met.

These people. Military. She never mentioned. Maybe they were her dad's contacts? Her father was ex British special forces.

They all were having a good laugh in the corner of the cafe. And when, Summer lifted her gaze to wipe a tear from her eye, he gave her a small wave. Her smile grew wider, if that was even possible, and she started to collect her books from the table and dumping it into her duffel bag.

Spencer had felt the eyes of the two gentleman pass over him like they were trying to judge his character right then and there. He had shifted his weight, uncomfortable being under their observation. The law enforcement man's stare could probably give Hotch a run for his money.

He watched her say her goodbyes. A hug to the older kinder looking man. The stern one gave her several claps on the shoulder when she moved for an embrace. She was about to leave, but for some reason, the stern one held her back. They had a small conversation, involving a pamphlet being passed from the on man to another, then being handed to Summer.

Spencer could remember her reaction when she read the paper. A combination of wonder and worry fell into her features. She tried to show them that she was otherwise unaffected by they knew and he knew that it simply wasn't the case. She shoved it inside her jacket's breast pocket.

And she's been quiet ever since. It was enough to worry him. Something happened there in that brief exchange that brought her mood down. He found that he didn't like it- not one bit.

"You've been quiet since we left the cafe," he said, watching a plane take off in the distance. She was going to be in one of those planes soon.

"No, nothing's wrong. I'm..." She shrugged, giving him a small playful nudge. "I'm just worried about you that's all," she replied, a small wistful smile on her face. "I'm just … I don't know." She shrugged and leaned back on her seat.

"Summer," Spencer urged.

She stared at him for a second before very reluctantly getting the pamphlet that was given to her from her pocket. "Gunny gave me this," she said, handing it to him. "I didn't tell him anything, I promise. He's famous for having an infamous gut," she added quickly in her defense.

He looked the pamphlet over in surprise. Bright blue with red and white ribbons running through it, it was for The Beltway Clean Cops- a substance abuse support group for law enforcement agencies. If she didn't say anything, how in the world did the other agent know. They've never met. He's never seen him in his life. "...An infamous gut?" he asked instead.

She nodded, soberly. "Gut feel. Instinct. He's famous for it. You can ask anyone in the Navy Yard," she explained. "I promise. I didn't say anything. He asked what I was doing in D.C. In the middle of a school term and I told him that a friend fell ill. I didn't even tell him a name," she continued. "He just took one look at you. And I don't know... he just knew. And Ducky always has random things in his bag... No wonder he drives his boss batty." She sighed again. "Actually, the Beltway does sound like a good program. They're all cops. They can relate you know... You're not mad at me are you, Slim?" she inquired tentatively.

Spencer lifted his eyes from the pamphlet and shot her a confused expression. "Why would I be mad at you if you didn't say a thing?" he answered. He saw the immediate change in her demeanor. Her mood seemed... a bit brighter.

"Really?" she asked, hopeful.

"This is like the time you came around with a broken arm and you wouldn't get out of the car because you thought I'd be angry at you for not being able to play. If you say you didn't say anything, I believe you," he replied, offering her a small smile. "You're being silly again."

He saw her mood brighten considerably, much to his relief. It's like a pendulum swung the other way. "Are you profiling me?" she asked, grinning.

Spencer snorted. "Sometimes, I swear you're bi polar," he offered, gamely.

"Sometimes? What's this? No statistic?"

"I haven't gone around to charting you out yet. Next time, you should stay much longer so that we can plot you out on an axis over a period of time. Proper diagnosis can only come from proper observations," he answered.

"Yeah? How long are we talking about?"

The question was casual enough but Spencer looked away from her curious blue eyes unable to answer. How many times before, when they left California a few weeks after she takes her exam, did he wish that the McKenzies just stay forever? But he knew Summer. She was downright intent on living her life her own way- like her father. If he asks, with the situation the way it is right now, he knew she'd stop everything and move. Who was he to ask her to do something so big? He can't possibly ask her to put her life on hold.

He saw another plane depart, one more plane gone meant that she'd have to board hers soon.

He felt her hand rub circles on his back. "You know," she started, "I don't move around the world as often as I used to."

"I know."

" Like, I'm not in Spain one month and be in Thailand two months after."

"I know you're not."

There goes another plane.

"I'm just in the west coast," she continued on, breezily.

Spencer smiled, amused, knowing she's not about to stop. "Four hours by plane. Less than two days if I drive. You can call and they won't even charge you an international fee," she went on.

Still too far., though. "I know," he answered softly.

"I know that you know," she said. "But I also know that sometimes people need to hear it."

Her flight to SeaTac was called out. Spencer felt a knot form in his throat when they both stood. She gathered her things. "That's me," she said, turning around to give him a small hug.

Spencer found himself returning the embrace. He closed his eyes for a moment as she held him tighter. "I'll be fine," he promised her before she gave him a small peck on the cheek and stepped away.

She grinned. "I know you will, Slim. But you call, anyway."

The last call for her flight rang through the airport.

"See you later, Slim," she said, tossing her bag over her shoulder, moving towards the security line.

Spencer watched her give him a small wink before she disappeared behind the throngs of people gathered for a security check. He pressed his lips into a thin line. Her family never says goodbye but it always feels like it for him. "See you later, Summer," he whispered after her.

And just like that, he was alone again.

Spencer stayed until he saw her boarding gate close and the plane started moving backwards. _Time to go back,_ he thought, _No use being here anymore. _And so with one last nod to the plane his friend was in, he took a deep breath and made his way towards the exit. He barely made it out of the automatic doors when his phone started ringing. "Please don't let this be work," he grumbled, fishing the phone out of his coat pocket.

Much to his surprise, it wasn't anybody from the BAU calling. In fact, it was a text. He couldn't help but let out a wry smile when he read it.

"_Slim, your shoes are under the couch ;)_"


End file.
